


downfall

by seroquel (smallredboy)



Series: heaven's gate [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Arguing, Crowley As Lilith, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fallen Angels, Gaslighting, Gen, Minor Violence, Name Changes, Non-Linear Narrative, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/seroquel
Summary: Crowley and Lucifer, before and after the Fall.





	downfall

**Author's Note:**

> this series is My City Now. i hope yall enjoy this installment! 
> 
> also fills the square "gaslighting" in my hc-bingo card.
> 
> enjoy!! :)

Crowley misses Her.

He would never voice this out loud, of course, as all his fellow Fallen are filled with rage, with seething hatred against Her. Maybe it’s because he never explicitly disobeyed Her— he just asked questions, all while everyone else fought, all while everyone else went against Her wishes. But he aches for Heaven, for where he once was, where Aziraphale is.

He was just hanging with the wrong sort and before he knew it he’s here, down underground, with all the angels who Fell. Now they’re Demons and it doesn’t sit right on his tongue.

“Crawly,” Lucifer barks as he walks up to him. “Stop moping. We’re better off without Her.”

He stands up and looks at him, sighing. “But, Lucifer, She never did anything— anything bad against us—”

“Oh, She did,” Lucifer hisses, grabbing him by his shoulder and pulling him closer. “Don’t you remember all those times I was punished just for being a little different than the rest? A little more outspoken than all of those Angels? When the Metatron shoved me around and showed me off as a bad example?”

He clears his throat, his head swimming a bit. “Lucifer,  _ this  _ has been our only punishment,” he protests.

“It has not,” he says harshly. “Maybe She erased your memories of our time up there. It would make sense.”

He still remembers everything clearly. He still remembers as the Garden of Eden was starting to be built, he still remembers Aziraphale’s light smile as they talked, he still remembers Uriel’s teasing note to his voice every time they talked to each other. He still remembers. 

“Maybe She has,” he agrees quietly.

When his memories start to trickle out of him, he guesses Lucifer’s right. He’s always been right, after all.

* * *

“You raise some great questions, Lilith,” Lucifer tells him, white wings spread wide and proud.

He shuffles on his feet. “Thank you,” he says. “I just— have to wonder, you know? What She plans.”

“Ineffable, they call it,” he replies, tilting his head. “But I’m sure we deserve the answers. It’s good for you to wonder.”

The praise makes him warm inside out, like he can trust Lucifer even as angel after angel turns their back on him. Something or other about how he’s not like everyone else. How he’s better, how he’s worse. It’s like all of Heaven is built on a shaky foundation and he can’t tell where the floor starts or ends.

He nods heavily. “We deserve the answers.” He clears his throat. “I’m friends with Uriel. He is higher on the hierarchy, I could, ah, ask around, if you’d like.”

There’s something about Lucifer— maybe that he is higher-ranking— but it compels him to follow him. He tries to ignore it.

“That would be wonderful, Lilith,” he tells him. “Thank you.”

“Oh!” he squeaks out. “You’re, ah, you’re welcome,” he stammers, bowing a little before running off to talk to Uriel.

* * *

“We cannot be calling you Lilith anymore,” Lucifer starts.

“What?” Crowley asks, surprised. He likes the name, it rolls off the tongue nicely, it’s pretty okay. It’s also the one She gave him.

Lucifer grimaces, sticks his tongue out, licks his lips. “It’s the name She gave you,” he spits out. “We cannot have any connection to Her anymore.”

“I think it’s quite okay,” he says quietly.

Lucifer’s teeth sharpen, his eyes blacken. He hisses out and Crowley recoils. 

“It’s not okay,” he agrees. “I can— I can change it. Any suggestions?”

Lucifer’s factions go back to normal. “Good,” he says calmly. “I was thinking perhaps Crawly would suit you. I saw you be quite fixated on the snakes in the Garden.”

He clears his throat a little. “I do think legs are quite a necessary evil,” he mutters. “I can go by Crawly.”

“You will go by Crawly,” he says without missing a beat, looking down at his nails. He leans in and does an intricate scribble on Crowley’s chest, light marks that drip black blood. It feels like a papercut. “That’s your name.”

“Of course,” he says heavily, with a newfound acceptance of his role in the hierarchy of what is now Hell. “That’s my name.”

* * *

“Lilith,” Aziraphale starts as they sit around, legs almost brushing together. “Do you not— do you not worry about Lucifer? He doesn’t seem like he’s, ah… how do I say this… I don’t mean to judge, but…”

Crowley knows what he means. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know. But we’re all different, aren’t we?”

His questioning is warranted. His questions are warranted, they’re for a good reason. He wants to know what’s going on in Her mind. Or the concept of Her mind. He wants to know, to ask everything in his mind. Lucifer encourages him, puts his hand on his shoulder, says  _ Lilith, you are so smart _ and he feels warm from head to toe.

“We are,” Aziraphale nods. “But I’m not too sure if She is a big fan of it.”

“Well, I don’t think it matters,” he says. It’s not like the world isn’t new, like everything isn’t new and shiny and brilliant, like questions aren’t warranted. “I think She should be okay with it, if anything. Questions will happen and, well, She’s omniscient. She knew some would have questions.”

Aziraphale’s lips purse and he shifts on his body weight, wiggles a little like that will make the conversation more comfortable. 

“I suppose so,” he says slowly, like the words might kill him.

He smiles a little, victorious at having him agree. 

* * *

“Our Master is quite fixated on you, don’t you think?” Beelzebub asks him, propping her feet over one of the tables, humming softly.

“Perhaps,” he says. 

He hasn’t gotten used to all this yet. None of them have, at least he hopes so. Beelzebub is technically well above him, a Prince of Hell. Hastur and Ligur are Dukes. And well, he’s a lowlife, practically, even though there’s barely enough demons out there to be space for lowlives.

“I know you two were close when we were - up there,” she continues. “But, ah, I don’t underzzztand why he would make you zzo low on the bureaucrazzy of Hell, ya know?”

But Crowley knows. He knows exactly why he’s a lowlife.

After talking to Beelzebub, he draws in a breath and looks for Lucifer. It’s not hard to find him, with his ever-imposing presence, like fire that would turn humans blind with its brightness. He’s too bright and he’s everywhere and he led a rebellion Crowley didn’t even know he was in. He was just looking for answers in an existence resistant to questions.

“Lucifer,” he approaches him.

He sneers at him a little. “Manners, Crawly,” he spits out.

“Oh, of course,” he says without much hesitance. He bows his head a little. “Master,” he says. “Could I speak to you for a second, please?”

He smiles, eyes glistening. “Of course.” He pats a precarious chair and he sits down as told. “What do you wish to speak to me about?”

“I was wondering if I could be, ah, promoted?” he asks in a mumble, not sure if he’d like the consequences of voicing it any louder.

The consequences come nonetheless. “Are you questioning the rank I have given everyone?” Lucifer growls.

“No,” he hurries to correct, digging his nails onto the chair. “I’m sorry, I-I just don’t understand— I’m a close friend of yours, I just thought I’d be—”

“You are not my friend,” Lucifer exclaims, staring down at him with that empty hatred that makes him dizzy. “We were never friends.”

He knows Lucifer referred to him as a friend. He knows, once upon a time, he called him his dearest friend. But his memories are messed up, right? She messed with them. He can’t be sure about anything he remembers about Heaven. He knows.

“But—”

“Shut up, Crawly,” he hisses out, grabbing him, claws digging into his arm. He gasps out, eyes wide as he wriggles against him. “You should do what your name implies. You should crawl like the  _ worm  _ you are at my feet.”

“Lucifer—” he breathes. “We  _ were  _ friends! Why are you a-acting like this?”

He throws him hard against one of the walls and he cries out, pain spreading through him quick. 

“We were never friends,” he says. “Stop making shit up, and get out of my damned  _ sight _ .”

Crowley draws in a shaky breath, his head swimming as he straightens up and runs away from Lucifer. As soon as he’s away from them he trips on his own feet, falls to the black floors, clinging onto anything he can get a hold of. He cries softly, unsure of everything that made him end up Falling. All he knows is that he’s here now and that there is no way out.

After a few minutes he straightens up and looks at himself carefully. He doesn’t think he should be going by Crawly any longer.


End file.
